Zadracarta
by Kizzykat
Summary: Alexander takes Bagoas to his bed


**Zadracarta by Kizzykat**

Alexander stood on a small stone balcony in the fortress at Zadracarta, staring out at the cold grey sea in the early morning light. He was naked, his head was foggy with the previous evening's alcohol, and he was chewing anxiously at his thumbnail. Hephaestion was going to kill him. Hephaestion was utterly, utterly going to kill him.

Hephaestion was going to yell at him and call him seven kinds of fool. He was going to tell him that he should have been more discreet, that a King should never think with his gonads, that if he wanted to fuck a Persian eunuch then the whole damned army didn't have to know. Hephaestion was going to tell him that he should have talked to him first.

Alexander squeezed his eyes shut in consternation. Darius's eunuch. Not just any eunuch, he'd taken Darius's eunuch to his bed. Hephaestion was going to kill him.

With a tight sigh, Alexander opened his eyes and threw back his head. Hephaestion was going to tell him that if it wasn't bad enough he'd consorted with one of those depraved and disgusting creatures, in doing so he'd put himself on the same level as a barbarian King: he'd taken a barbarian King's leavings. A wholesome Greek should not consort with one of those half-creatures, neither a man nor a woman, created by degenerate foreigners as an object of pleasure. Sex should be an act of pleasure for both parties, not a degradation for an unmanned boy and a perversion for a man of sense. Hephaestion was going to tell him that was exactly what all the old-timers like Parmenion, the Macedonians from the hills for whom even Greek was a foreign language, were going to accuse him of.

Yet these young eunuchs were everywhere, as free as men and as seductive as women. Their beauty tantalized the eyes and their soft suppleness hinted at skills undreamt of by a homespun Greek. Alexander had been curious, so curious.

Alexander clenched both his hands into fists and set them very deliberately onto the balcony's balustrade. Hephaestion was going to tell him that he should never have accepted Nabarzanes gift of the beautiful boy. Nabarzanes would be gloating that his gift, his peace offering, his bribe to Alexander to accept his submission and forgive him his part in Darius's death had succeeded. Alexander had taken the bait, and now Nabarzanes would think that Alexander was in his debt. Alexander could imagine Nabarzanes and Oxathres, Darius's brother, exchanging knowing, superior smiles, knowing they had entrapped the Greek peasant.

Alexander put his hand to his head and turned around in exasperation. Hephaestion was going to tell him that he should have thought about the boy being a plant, that Nabarzanes might have primed the boy to stab or strangle him as he slept. But Alexander hadn't been as stupid as that. He hadn't been so drunk that he couldn't defend himself, and one look at the Pages had been enough for them to remove Alexander's weapons from the room. He hadn't been that besotted.

Nabarzanes and Oxathres were both being watched and had no access to Persian troops. If there was a conspiracy, it could be crushed fairly quickly. And old Artabazbus, Barsine's father, had come in with his seven sons and they were working to convince high-ranking Persians that now Darius was dead, they should accept Alexander as his legitimate successor.

Alexander had returned Barsine to her father, but the old man had courteously refused to accept her, saying that he was honoured she should serve the Great King and she'd been happy enough to stay and rule Darius's harem for Alexander in the absence of a wife. Artabazus had also said that the Great King was expected to have eunuchs among his bed-fellows, that Bagoas was a very jewel, fit only to adorn the Great King's bed.

Bagoas. Alexander laid the palms of his hands flat against the wall at the rear of the balcony, out of sight of the Pages within his room and slowly, slowly banged his head against the stone wall. Bagoas. Hephaestion was going to hate him for this. Hephaestion was so totally going to hate him.

They had been surrounded by such exotic richness, such strange newness, and it was all his for the taking. They had fought so hard for it, the rewards and pleasures were so hard won, that they deserved to indulge themselves for a while. And he had been tempted by the beautiful boy from the moment he had first set eyes on him at Nabarzanes' side. So tempted.

Hephaestion had known. They had not spoken of it, but Alexander had seen the imperceptible stiffness, the watchful stillness descend on Hephaestion whenever Bagaos drew near. Alexander had no words to reassure him, for he did not know what they were. Just a quick touch, a brief comforting caress on Hephaestion's shoulder before his eyes had returned to follow Bagoas. His hand had stilled and slipped away unheeded from Hephaestion's shoulder as he had watched Bagoas move about the dining hall with the lithe grace of a dancer – and oh, so aware of the effect he was creating with all the arrogant self-confidence of boyhood.

Alexander had watched that evening, fascinated, as Bagoas had moved about the room, the proud and elegant turn of his head, the flowing, musical movement of his long-fingered hands and the little, butterfly smile that kept flitting over his beautiful, exotic young face as things pleased him.

Bagoas, feeling Alexander's eyes upon him, had turned his bright brown eyes, as piercing as an eagle's, upon Alexander and he had smiled. There was no coyness there, nor shyness, just a simple, boyish pleasure at being noticed. For an instant they had been the only two in the room, and Alexander's stomach had turned over.

Alexander, feeling confused as if he had exposed himself to half the room, had turned to Hephaestion and pushed him down fiercely onto the couch, lying on top of him and smothering him with kisses. Hephaestion had pushed him off with an annoyed laugh, much to the amusement of everyone else. They'd both gotten drunk that night, but Alexander had known. Hephaestion had known. It was only a matter of time, and both of them had gone to bed alone that night.

Last night had been a large gathering, and Alexander had lost sight of Hephaestion. Half-drunk, Alexander didn't know where he'd gone to or how long it was since he'd last seen him talking to someone on the other side of the room. And then there was Bagoas, standing watching him with a bright-eyed, soft-mouthed little smile, a tantalizing mixture of lively acumen and unashamed sexuality.

The boy knew. He knew what Alexander wanted and he wanted it too. He was not afraid, he was not an unwilling victim. Nor was he a whore. It was not about selling himself for sex. It was about sex for pleasure, for enjoyment, for his own and Alexander's. And for being the best. For being nothing less than the King's lover. Because he knew he could be.

Alexander's heart and chest had swelled as he took a deep breath, recognising that ambition to be the best, that confident belief in oneself.

He had called the boy over, rather too loudly as heads had turned in their direction. Bagoas had danced for them a few nights before, a dance too provocative for many of the disapproving old guard, but Alexander had given him a gold bracelet for his efforts. The bracelet was on Bagoas's arm now, too big for the boy's slender limbs as Alexander had him sit down beside him on the couch. Bagoas, seeing Alexander's eyes on the bracelet, had touched it, then raised his eyes to meet Alexander's smile. He had smiled back at Alexander, opening his lips and white teeth in a joyous, silent laugh, and Alexander knew he was lost.

He had touched the boy's soft cheek in wonder at its smoothness, fingered his dark silken hair, and lightly kissed his plum-ripe lips. He had draped his arm around the boy's elegant shoulders and raised his goblet to the boy's mouth. Bagoas had drunk the ruby wine, his eyes dancing with pleasure at Alexander over the golden rim of the goblet.

Showing his teeth, Alexander had leant back and drained the wine from the goblet. He pressed Bagoas's shoulder and the boy took the hint and rose to his feet as Alexander stirred himself and stood up. Hephaestion was nowhere in sight.

Alexander left the room, his arm around Bagoas's shoulders, aware of the feral eyes, glowing like jewels in the night watching him, though there was no abatement of the noise in the room, no stares or pauses. Yet every Macedonian, every Greek, was aware that the King was leaving the dining hall with a eunuch.

There would have been no comment, no censure, no tension licking at their heels, if it had been anyone else Alexander had left with. But it was a eunuch, a Persian, Darius's boy that he had left with, and Alexander could feel a certain curiosity sniffing in the air at their backs. They wanted to know what the jewel-like boy was like, and didn't want to be the first to try a eunuch. But if Alexander did, then it must be alright.

Alexander had woken this morning with the boy asleep in his arms, his shinning hair spread over Alexander's shoulder. Alexander had looked at him in silent wonder, in wonder at himself for bringing this boy to his bed, for treating someone as a chattel.

In the end he hadn't. Perhaps he had never meant to. Perhaps he had simply meant to satisfy his curiosity, to cherish the boy, to reward him for his beauty, to claim him for his own.

When it came down to it, lust had fled. He had simply stood and looked at the naked boy in wonder; as graceful as a deer, as hairless and seemingly innocent as a child, as grown and slender as a boy, and Alexander had known he wasn't yet ready to invade that territory.

The boy had seen the desire fade from Alexander's eyes, and a small frown had appeared between his brows. Any hint of womanliness had disappeared from his eyes and lips as he had raised a slender hand and touched with delicate fingertips the scar in the hollow of Alexander's shoulder, the scar from the catapult bolt at Gaza. With frowning concentration, his eyes had traced the other scars on Alexander's body, the muscles, the hair, the weight of Alexander's masculinity.

Sharing the boy's regret, Alexander knew Bagoas would never have the strength to be a soldier, to bear a man's scars. Even ungelded, the boy would have been too lightly built to have lasted long behind a spear and a shield.

With a laugh, the wine dizzying his head, Alexander had stooped, wrapped his arms around the boy's hips and picked him up. Regret for what could not be was wasted effort. Bagoas had looked down at him with smiling, boyish surprise, and Alexander had dumped him unceremoniously onto the bed. The boy was not fragile, he did not break, and with a giggle he had moved over quickly to make room for Alexander, grinning with excitement.

Alexander had paused before kneeling on the edge of the bed, his smile unwittingly fading as he wondered at himself. He had never taken anyone, woman or boy, as a prize of war and that was what this boy was. Alexander barely knew him. He had scarcely spoken to him half a dozen times, he knew nothing of his home, his family, let alone his hopes and dreams, his likes or dislikes. Yet Alexander could not now disappoint him and send him away, nor expose him to the questions and ridicule that would bring.

With a quiet smile Alexander had lain in the bed and opened his arms to the boy. Bagoas had regarded him with a slightly uncertain smile but he came into Alexander's embrace. He had raised his face expectantly for a kiss but Alexander had touched his lips with a gentle finger and a little smile. Bagoas had subsided onto the pillow, his eyes dulling submissively. With a quick smile, Alexander had planted a swift kiss on his lips.

He had cuddled the boy then, caressing and kissing him soothingly, slowing stroking him to languorous pleasure, until the boy was panting and exhausted with over-stimulation.

The boy had looked up at him then, with eyes as bright as berries, and with gossamer-light fingertips had touched Alexander. Intimate, light-fingered magic had stopped Alexander's breath with a gasp as the boy held his gaze. Alexander's eyes had dimmed as suddenly, unexpectedly and spectacularly he had climaxed, Hephaestion's name unbidden on his lips.

Temporarily blinded, Alexander had collapsed into the pillow, a hand to his brow, his mind swimming with Hephaestion's presence. He could almost feel his warm breath on his lips, smell his scent, breathing under his warm weight pressing heavily on him. His eyes closed, his lips parted, reaching for the soft, familiar warmth of Hephaestion's lips. But the loose-limbed release of wine and sex claimed him and he slipped into sleep as into still, deep water.

He had woken at dawn, his mind incoherently full of Hephaestion, and for a confused moment had thought that the warm weight lying next to him, pinning his arm to the bed, was Hephaestion. But the smell was all wrong, lighter and more feminine than Hephaestion's and cautiously he had craned his head to look at Bagoas. His breath had stilled at how beautiful the boy was, even lost and unconscious in sleep, his fine hair spilling over the sheets.

Carefully extricating himself, Alexander had walked naked onto the balcony, wondering what on earth he was going to say to Hephaestion, how he was going to explain this to him. He prayed Hephaestion would not totally hate him.

Just then, one of the Pages who had come into his room to prepare Alexander's bath and breakfast laughed under his breath, sharing a quiet joke with the other youths, heedless of waking Bagoas, or of the King's presence.

Shocked fully awake, his blood pounding in his ears, Alexander suddenly wondered if Hephaestion already knew. He had been imagining how he would tell him, that he would be the first to let him know. But what if Hephaestion already knew? What if someone had gone blabbing to him with the news? What if he was already the butt of everyone's jokes? Had he seen Alexander leave with Bagoas and spent the night alone in doubt?

Like a whirlwind, Alexander erupted from the balcony. He tore through his bedroom, much to the consternation of the Pages laying out his breakfast, and a sleepy Bagoas, who lifted his head from the pillow. Alexander ignored them as he snatched up a cloak and banged out of the door.

Hephaestion was sitting alone on the steep bank of pebbles that served as a beach on this seashore. Wrapped in a warm cloak, he had been sitting there for a long time, since before the sky had begun to lighten. Despite the cloak, he was chilled through to the bone.

He had never felt so utterly wounded.

Last night he had gone to Alexander's rooms. He had left the dining hall earlier to relieve himself but hadn't bothered to go back. For some time he had wandered about disconsolately, until he had decided he had watched Alexander drooling over that boy Bagoas for long enough. Attack was the surest means of defence, and he had headed off to Alexander's room determined on seduction.

Unexpectedly, he had seen Alexander ahead of him down the rough stone corridor, but Alexander was not alone. Alexander's arm was around the boy Bagoas's shoulders. Hephaestion stood stock still as Alexander's hand had travelled down the boy's slender back and rested on his pert backside. Bending his head towards the boy, Alexander had ushered him into his rooms.

In shock, Hephaestion had stared down the corridor after them. Then quickly he turned and walked away before the guard closing the door after Alexander should see him.

He had gone to his rooms and lain on his bed, as still as a stone statue, staring numbly up at the lumps and bumps on the unevenly plastered ceiling, flickering in the light from the single flame of the lamp beside his bed. His mind was too stunned to form a coherent thought. He did not believe Alexander would do that to him.

Unable to bear the claustrophobia any more, he had caught up his cloak and left the fortress. He had walked for a long time without any real idea of where he was going. Out along the shore road he had stopped, breathless in the complete darkness of a cloudy night, unable to see the stones lining the road anymore. To his right, beyond the shingle bank, he could hear the waves breaking on the shore; to his left were the night sounds and smells of marshland stretching far inland. He turned around abruptly, vaguely surprise at how far away the night glow of Zadracarta was.

He had started back at a rapid pace, as if the rapidity of his movement could ease the clenched pain around his heart and still the moiling silence in his mind. But he could not make himself go all the way back, back into the presence of so many people. So he had picked his way across the scrubland to the pebble beach and, when his ankle had turned on the cold pebbles, he had sat down rather abruptly. He had been there ever since, staring at the faint luminescence of the waves breaking on the pebbles.

The sea foam was white now, white in the dawn of a grey world: grey sky, grey sea and grey pebbles. A cool wind was blowing off the sea, blowing through the hollowness in him.

Hephaestion wrapped his arms around his knees beneath his cloak and for a brief moment rested his forehead against his knees in desolation. He couldn't think around the hole in his heart.

He couldn't believe Alexander would shut him out so. Would do something like that behind his back.

In the brief cocoon of warmth created as he curled in on himself, Hephaestion just listened to the breath and blood in his body. He did not know where he was going to go from here.

He raised his head and watched as a seagull skimmed over the cold waves. He watched the white breast, the staring eye, the sharp beak. He wished he could be like that: impervious to cold, nothing but sharp eyes and hunger.

With a pained breath, Hephaestion raised his eyes to follow the bird into the cold, empty sky. The world would be cold without Alexander's love. Out at sea, the gull dived and came up with a fish in its beak. It flew away to eat its breakfast. Hephaestion watched it out of sight.

Some great warrior you are, he chided himself scornfully. At the first wound, you turn and flee. The wounds to the soul are deeper than any wounds to the flesh, Aristotle had told him once.

Mindlessly, Hephaestion watched the bleak waves, the formless clouds. It was to be expected, he told himself. You are not a boy any longer and neither is Alexander. It was only natural that Alexander should be tempted by softer flesh than yours. He had always appreciated great beauty, and Bagoas's beauty was exceptional.

There was nothing out there on the sea except the grey water of sky and sea. Did it just go on like that to the edge of the world?

Neither of them should need the emotional encouragement of another man at their age, and it was only fitting that Alexander should want to nurture a young boy's spirit. He'd always liked having puppies underfoot. It was right that he should want to share his experience, his love of life, with someone younger, unformed, unwise and with his whole life before him. Someone who would look up to him and worship him whole-heartedly. A eunuch.

Stop thinking like a damned girl, Hephaestion told himself savagely, pushing his heels down into the cold pebbles. Alexander will always love you, even if you are not first in his heart or his bed. Once he has given his affection to anyone, he never takes it back unless he is betrayed.

Yet even knowing that did not fill the hole in Hephaestion's heart.

He stared at the pebbles and the dents his heels had made. The next storm would wash his footprints away. As though he had never left a mark.

It was time he headed back; before he was missed and someone started asking questions. He knew he was hoping Alexander would come after him. He was going to be very disappointed when Alexander didn't even notice he was missing.

Hephaestion tucked his arms in and stared out to sea. He could not make himself move.

It was not the first time. Usually it was when they were apart from each other. Yet Alexander had always talked to him about it first. The first time, Alexander had caught his hands as Hephaestion was about to depart in command of the fleet along the coast to Gaza and Alexander had told him, rather shame-facedly, that he thought he might sleep with Barsine.

Good, Hephaestion had said to cover his momentary surprise. Good, he'd repeated, squeezing Alexander's hands, and meaning it. It was good that Alexander got to know a woman, and Hephaestion rather liked Barsine. She was a good ten years older than both of them, although with that henna'd, red-brown hair, long and curled, she looked a bit too much like Olympias for his taste. But she was a sensible, level-headed woman with a deep, throaty laugh as she tipped back her head on her ivory neck. She never gave Alexander any nonsense about marriage, or got possessive. Alexander hated to be controlled.

He hated not been able to make his own choices. Had Hephaestion no longer left him any choice? Had he had chosen Bagoas because Hephaestion made him feel constrained, in need of new territory to explore? Was Alexander slowly pushing him away? He was the Great King now. He should put away childish things. He could have anything he wanted.

Hephaestion stared at his cloaked knees, trying to let go of the past. Then he heard the crunch of pebbles and looked up to see Alexander hurrying towards him in a royal blue cloak.

Despite himself, the edges of Hephaestion's heart lifted in hope. Then, chasing on hope's tail was shame that he had made Alexander come out after him, and anger at himself and at Alexander, utterly confusing him. He had no idea what he felt, except a momentary relief that he was no longer alone.

Alexander stopped in front of him, out of breath, awkwardly trying to get his balance on the loose pebbles. The royal cloak was clinging to him as he stared with lips parted in uncertainty at Hephaestion's chilled face. He saw the deep pain which Hephaestion was trying desperately to mask, but he saw no welcome in Hephaestion's eyes, just an enormous distance he had to bridge.

Shaking, Alexander threw himself onto his knees beside Hephaestion, the pebbles crunching. His eyes were enormous as he stared at Hephaestion, real fear in their depths. He saw no forgiveness in Hephaestion's eyes, just wide-eyed withdrawal. He'd lost him: he'd hurt him irreparably. Tears of pain glittered in Alexander's eyes as he bowed his head in shame.

Suddenly, Hephaestion fought his hands free of his cloak and grabbed Alexander's head, tightening his hands painfully in Alexander's hair as he pulled his head against his chest. Passionately he kissed the crown of Alexander's head. He had seen the innocence in Alexander's eyes, innocence that gave him hope and time to accustom himself to sharing Alexander.

He wrapped his arms around Alexander's shoulders, feeling the woollen cloth of his cloak slip against his bare skin. Alexander's impulsive streak would be the death of him one day.

Sensing a loosening of Hephaestion's grip, Alexander eased back and looked up at Hephaestion, a tentative, hopeful question edging into his eyes.

Hephaestion looked back at him uncertainly, not ready to open his heart yet.

Alexander's fear did not diminish, but he had not been rebuffed, and it strengthened his heart. Slowly he stood up, his cloak falling open to reveal his nakedness as he held out his hand to Hephaestion. He needed to take his love away from this bleak place.

After a moment's hesitation, his eyes flickering uncertainly, Hephaestion put out his chilled hand and took hold of Alexander's rough warm one. Stiff and cold, he climbed awkwardly to his feet as Alexander pulled him upright.

Wide-eyed, Alexander looked at him, being very careful. Hephaestion looked back at him, noticing that Alexander had a red mark on his forehead as though he had run into something. He wondered what he'd been doing.

Alexander sensed the curiosity waking in Hephaestion and his expression warmed. He shifted his weight forward and, his lips softening imperceptibly in the beginnings of a smile, bent his head towards Hephaestion's cheek to steal a kiss.

Outraged at his arrogance, Hephaestion punched Alexander hard in the stomach. As Alexander bent over sharply, expelling a pained groan, Hephaestion's other fist caught him on the chin, knocking him backwards.

Alexander sprawled backwards onto the pebbles and Hephaestion stared at him in disbelief at his gall, his knuckles smarting. As Alexander steadied himself on the sliding pebbles, Hephaestion noticed he was wearing a pair of hastily tied sandals which were too big for him. They were Hephaestion's sandals. Alexander must have been to his rooms looking for him.

Hot tears scalded Hephaestion's eyes and he tasted blood in his mouth. He had bitten through his lip.

Half-lying on the pebbles, Alexander looked up at him, touching his jaw tentatively. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as if he knew he'd deserved that. He half-smiled ruefully as Hephaestion stepped to his side and held out his hand to him. There was more than a touch of defiance in the gesture as Hephaestion wiped fiercely at the hot tears that spilled down his cheeks.

Seeing the tears, Alexander stared up at Hephaestion in apology until Hephaestion's lip tightened in impatience and his hand stiffened. Alexander took his hand and grinned in relief as Hephaestion hauled him to his feet. They stood facing each other. Hephaestion looked cold and weary through lack of sleep and Alexander looked rosy and warm; a golden dawn in a royal blue sky.

They measured each other silently for a long moment. Then Alexander's grip tightened fervently on Hephaestion's hand as he eased closer to Hephaestion. Hephaestion placed his free arm around Alexander's shoulders and Alexander's arm came around Hephaestion's waist. They held each other close, more in warmth than in passion, their bodies slowly relaxing against each other in long familiar comfort.

At the distant sound of voices, probably searching for Alexander, they reluctantly eased apart, Hephaestion touching the back of Alexander's head gently as they separated. Alexander looked at him with wide eyes, waiting for his judgement. Hephaestion's lips moved in a small wry smile. He was too tired for more.

People came into view and they turned to face them. As they started to walk towards them over the uneven pebbles, Hephaestion placed his hand on Alexander's shoulder in a gesture of support. It kept them close together, feeling each other's movements, feeling the heat of each other's body as they began the walk back to Zadracarta, bonding them together forever.


End file.
